Twisted Irony
by obsessedwithstabler
Summary: I may still have a pulse, but I'm dead on the inside.


I haven't had any inspiration at all for days, until now. This is a MAJOR Kleenex story, so be warned. Enjoy, and please review.

Disclaimer: Not mine!

EOEOEOEOEOEOEOEOEOEO

It's ironic.

You always said that you wanted to be with me forever. You never wanted to leave my side. We were meant to be together, and we had wasted enough time being stupid and trying to fight that simple fact.

My mind is flooded with a myriad of memories and images, snapshots frozen in time and tucked safely in the corner of my mind.

I think my favorite thing about you was always your smile. From the moment I saw you, your smile drew me in, made me feel safe. You took care of me, and I took care of you, too.

There wasn't a day that went by that you weren't on my mind, or in my heart.

Then when we finally confessed what we were both feeling, it amazed me. And every day that I woke up with you in my arms, I fell deeper and deeper in love with you.

It never occurred to me that the day would come when I would wake up and find my arms empty, and your side of the bed cold.

There was a night when you told me that you hoped you'd die first. I just shook my head and refused to listen to you. What did you know? You weren't going to die anytime soon. And when you did, you would die peacefully in my arms as an old man, as I held you and told you how much I loved you. How I had always loved you, and how I always would.

You were right.

The worst day of my life was hot and humid, and if I had known what it would bring, I never would have let you out of bed that morning. I would have held you so close and called us both in, then taken the time to show you just how much you meant to me. You were my world.

But I didn't.

And I will always, always regret that.

I don't remember much about that day, until that afternoon. We got out of the car together. We did everything together. We were going to pick up a man who had been abusing his wife to the point of shoving a gun in her face and pulling the trigger. There wasn't a bullet in the chamber, but it had been enough to send her to us for help. I could tell that you were dying to bust this hump. That was you. You were always so passionate, so dedicated to our job.

We walked up the steps and knocked on the door. But instead of taking the bastard by surprise, an explosion of gunfire erupted around us.

Both of us pulled our guns, and nearly two minutes passed before silence finally fell over the neighborhood.

I looked up, and the bastard was on the ground, bleeding. But I didn't care. You were my first priority. I rolled over and reached for you, and that's when I saw it.

Blood, everywhere.

Your blood.

"Elliot!"

It didn't register in my mind that I was screaming your name over and over again. That didn't matter. Nothing did. I forced myself up and grabbed you, then pulled you into my arms and held you tight. You were so limp, like a ragdoll, but you were warm and breathing. Just barely, but you were still alive.

"Elliot..." I gently held your head to my shoulder, exactly as I had done three years ago, when one deranged perp bashed your head through a windshield. I was just as afraid then as I was now. You were so vulnerable, and it was my fault. I failed you. I was supposed to protect you. I hadn't.

You had moaned in pain, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear sirens wailing. "You're going to be okay," I had promised, kissing your head over and over.

God, I would have given anything to have been right.

I begged you not to talk, but you did. You told me that you loved me, that you always would. Then you asked for a kiss, and when I wouldn't, when I told you that there would be time later, you clung to me and tried to fight. And somehow, we both knew what was happening. Those ambulances would never make it. Then your breathing became more labored, and you begged me again for a kiss.

The look in your eyes was too much for me to fight. Sobbing, I gently cupped your cheek in my hand and pressed my lips to yours. I felt your grip loosen on my shirt, your breath leave your body, and inside, I died with you.

After that, I don't remember much else except the paramedics trying to pull you out of my arms, then Cragen showing up and grabbing me in a rough hug just as I screamed in rage, raw grief, and agony.

I may still have a pulse, but I'm dead inside.

Elliot Stabler died that day, and so did Olivia Benson.

But if I'm dead, when will the pain stop?

Never.

The End.

A/N: Very, very sad. I cried while writing it. But hopefully this unclogged my mind, and I can get back to writing fluff. Thanks for reading, and please review!


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